


nothin like this feeling, baby

by underwaternow



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 17:25:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17943995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underwaternow/pseuds/underwaternow
Summary: It had been hard to not tackle Gabe down on the ice and kiss him on the mouth in front of the Preds and God and everybody, is what Tyson is saying. Nate should be more understanding.postgame, col vs nash, 2/23/2019





	nothin like this feeling, baby

**Author's Note:**

> here's some porn with a sappy ending for your wednesday (hump day, hahaha, see what i did there). thank you to riley and brenna for inspiring me and talking through this idea with me, thank you to the avs for that game, thank you to gabe and tyson for being hot. thank you to roman josi for getting embarrassed twice on gabe's scoring play because nothing gets me fired up to yell like gabe showing off. title is from the NEW carly rae jepsen song "now that i found you" okay hope you enjoy byeeee

Gabe is three rows in front of Tyson, seated on the opposite side of the aisle next to the window. If Tyson leans forward and cranes his neck to see around Z, he can just manage to catch a glimpse of the top of Gabe’s ear. He leans forward a little more and — yes. There’s Gabe’s perfect left cheekbone, illuminated by the plane light that’s on because Gabe is pretending to read the safety instruction card like a giant nerd. Like he doesn’t know what to do in an emergency. They’ve been in the air for almost 40 minutes. Tyson checks his watch, just to be sure. Yep. Still two and a half hours to go. 

“Dude,” Nate says next to him. “Stop fidgeting. You’re shaking the entire plane.”

“Shut up, Nathan,” Tyson says automatically. He still hasn’t taken his eyes off Gabe. “You’re fidgeting.”

“I’m not, actually,” Nate says slowly, like Tyson is very, very stupid. “Seriously, what’s your deal?”

“Nothing,” Tyson says. “I just, you know. Want to be off this plane.”

He can feel Nate staring at him for two, three, four beats and then Nate groans, slumping back into his seat. “Gross. I don’t need to hear about how horny you are.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Tyson retorts. “You brought it up. Maybe you do want to talk about it, eh?”

“No offense but I’d rather watch Nemo clip his toenails,” Nate says. Tyson scoffs. “Figure it out.”

“You figure it out,” Tyson says as rudely as possible, and then lowers his voice one or two decibels. “I’ve already figured it out, I know exactly what I need, I need Gabe to — ”

“Shut up, stop talking,” Nate says. “God.”

Tyson glares at him. Nate has a lot of nerve, telling him off like Tyson can control the adrenaline that’s still pumping through his veins, coming off a game like that. The energy that Gabe’s been bringing to the ice, night in and night out without fail, resulting in beautiful hockey like the goal he’d scored tonight, the sweet little pass from G tapped over Josi’s stick and past Rinne into the net… well. Tyson’s only human. 

It had been hard to not tackle Gabe down on the ice and kiss him on the mouth in front of the Preds and God and everybody, is what Tyson is saying. Nate should be more understanding. 

Nate, for his part, does not look sympathetic. “God, did you two sneak away and hook up in a closet somewhere after the game? Is that why I couldn’t find either of you when I was ready to go?”

“No,” Tyson says in as dignified a voice as possible. He pauses. “We only got as far as making out in a back hallway before a janitor came along and we had to pretend like we just got turned around and leave, and that’s why I think I’m dying right now.”

“You’re not dying,” Nate says. “No one ever died because they had to wait three hours to get laid.”

“First of all, it’ll be more like five hours by the time we get home,” Tyson says, his voice creeping up into the semi-hysterical range for just a second before it occurs to him that literally the only thing that could make his predicament worse is if EJ found out about it. “Second of all, that doesn’t sound right, and I’m pretty sure it’s not, but I don’t know enough about sex deaths to argue with you.”

“You’re a lunatic,” Nate says, putting his seat back. “Wake me up when they put the food out.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” Tyson says, watching as Nate adjusts his sleep mask over his eyes, and then sighing loudly. God. If he doesn’t even have Nate to bother for the rest of the flight he might actually die. Or he’ll end up convincing Gabe they should fuck in the bathroom and they’ll get caught again and the boys will chirp them forever about it; one or the other. 

Nate lets out a very loud, very fake snore in response. Tyson sighs again and manages to hold out for exactly three and a half minutes before getting out his phone and messaging Gabe on the wifi. 

_bathroom?_

Tyson can tell when Gabe reads the message because he laughs, shaking his head. His phone vibrates a few seconds later. 

_did you forget what happened last time we did that? ej just stopped chirping me for it two weeks ago_

_well im dying here, u look fucking hot. still thinking about ur goal tonight, gabe, jesus_  
_i want to blow you so fucking bad right now fuck_  
_have u yank on my hair and make those obscene noises_

The wait before his phone lights up with another message is longer this time, and he’s pretty sure he sees Gabe glance over his shoulder, quickly, in the split second before the notifications pop up. 

_holy shit_  
_okay_  
_you always look so hot when you’re doing that. your mouth, tyson, fuck_

Tyson tries not to roll his eyes in case Gabe is looking. He loves Gabe, like Savage Garden - Truly Madly Deeply.mp3, spend the rest of their lives together with dogs and maybe even a kid or two, misses his stupid face after not seeing him for a few hours, _loves_ him, but Gabe is terrible at sexting. In a way, Tyson is glad; if Gabe looked like he does and fucked like he does _and_ could sext like a normal person, it would be an incredibly unfair advantage.

On the other hand, shit like this really tests Tyson’s patience. He can’t jerk off to Gabe rhapsodizing about his mouth. Well — he considers it. He _could_ , but he doesn’t want to.

_so what would you do?_

The next message he gets is just the eye-rolling emoji. Before Tyson can reply to it, another message comes through.

_i forgot that you’re always weird about me complimenting you when we sext_

_i am not weird about it!!!!_  
_but that’s not what sexting is for_  
_can u just tell me what u wld do to me_

 _i’d fuck your mouth_ , Gabe sends back almost immediately, like he knew that was what he should say all along but couldn’t help himself. _i’d pull on your hair and hold your head down and you’d be the one making noises around my dick_

Tyson is literally going to murder someone if Gabe suddenly gets really good at sexting while they’re trapped on a plane, but. He started this, and he’s not one to back down from a challenge. Never let it be said that Tyson Barrie doesn’t give as good as he gets.

 _i wouldn’t let you come_  
_you’d be almost there and i’d stop and make u watch me get myself ready for u to fuck me_

_god you’re so hot_

Crisis averted, apparently. Tyson watches as the three dots pop up, disappear, and then pop up again as Gabe has to really think about whatever corny-ass message he’s sending.

_how would i fuck you_

_i’d ride u_  
_i know u like to watch_

_i do, you look so fucking good. you always look good, tys_

Tyson swallows, does what he can to press the heel of his hand against his dick without being obvious about it and tries not to squirm in his seat, because it’s cheesy bullshit but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t work. It’s an unfortunate side effect of the whole “being in love with Gabe” thing.

 _gross_  
_just tell me how you’d rail me, god_

_why? is this not doing it for you? i can see how red your face is from here_

_JUST TELL ME_

_you’re the one riding me, you tell me_

_it’s a good thing u don’t fuck like u sext, gabe, honestly_  
_i’d take u slow and deep_  
_jerk myself off while i did_

_anything you want, tys. yeah_

_GOD YOURE SO BAD AT THIS_

_tyson i know you’re turned on right now so just stop_  
_i can’t wait to touch you. i want to kiss you again without getting interrupted and have you grind against me_

Okay, kissing is a little tame, but Tyson can work with this. He waits until Ghetto finishes digging something out of his bag in the overhead compartment and goes back to his seat one row behind Tyson to reply.

_only if u push me up against the wall_

_okay. i’d push you up against the wall and kiss your neck and your jaw and your cheekbone and just make you wait for it until the anticipation was almost killing you_

_jesus christ, gabe_

_what? that’s too corny now too?_

_yeah it is but also that’s fucking hot_

_i want to kiss you until we’re both so desperate we can hardly stand it_

_i mean. the bathroom is right there_

_we are not fucking in the bathroom again, ej was serious when he said he’d fine us both_

_ok well we don’t land for 2 hours so what am i supposed to do now_

_tell me more about how you’d ride me, that sounded interesting. i think i’d want to jerk you off_

_oh yeah?_

_yeah. i like how your face gets when i do it, you don’t quite know what to expect_

_alright u could jerk me off. could i come on ur face_

Tyson chances a glance three rows up and is satisfied to see how red Gabe is. Gabe has such a thing for Tyson coming on him; Tyson doesn’t know why, but he isn’t complaining.

 _fuck yeah you could. god you’re killing me here_  
_i love you so much_

_gross don’t say i love u while we’re sexting_

_you say i love you when we’re actually having sex all the time, tyson!_

_that’s different. it’s fine. sexting is not the right arena for it_

_oh my god. i love you so fucking much_

_i love you too_ , Tyson sends back, because God, he does, and then he has to put his phone down for awhile and deal with the shame of being a person who said _I love you_ while sexting. Love really changes people.

Gabe, for his part, gets up and goes to the bathroom about 30 minutes before they land; he returns to his seat looking smug, and when Tyson checks his phone a few minutes later he finds out why. He gasps a little, clutches the phone to his chest so his fucking nosy teammates don’t get a peek, and tries not to squirm too obviously in his seat as he scrolls through the series of selfies Gabe sent. They’re mostly PG, PG-13 at best because Gabe is Gabe, but he unbuttoned his shirt a few more buttons and is giving the camera his best sultry “come fuck me” eyes and, in the last one, his hand is out of frame below his waist with the absolute implication it’s on his dick. Gabe also somehow found good lighting in the shitty little airplane bathroom — so unfair, seriously, Tyson always looks like he has gout — and his hair is catching the light perfectly and he looks like a goddamned model. Tyson thinks this might be what a heart attack feels like.

He’s scrolling through the pictures for a third time when Gabe texts him again.

_like what you see?_

Tyson has to take a deep breath before answering so he doesn’t fire off some smartass response about how the pictures look like Disney prince pin-ups. Not because they don’t; they absolutely do, but he’s the one trying and failing to not get hard over them, and so it’s too much of a self-own for tonight.

_ur fucking hot and it’s unfair_

When they finally, _finally_ land, Tyson has to awkwardly hold his coat in front of him rather than put it on, even though it’s 25 degrees and the wind cuts through his suit as soon as he approaches the plane door. He notes with satisfaction that Gabe does the same thing, and the smugness of that victory, of knowing exactly how much Gabe enjoyed the in-flight entertainment, so to speak, helps distract him from the cold. Totally worth it.

As they head across the tarmac and shuffle into the terminal lobby, there’s energy growing among most of the younger guys about going out for drinks. Nate has already begged off, and the guys with wives and kids are starting to head out too, and Tyson is praying they can just quietly sneak out with them, but —

“Gabe, Tys, you in?” Josty chirps from where he’s standing with Comphy and Graves, the three of them spearheading the “going out for drinks” effort. Tyson loves his protégé dearly, but right now he wants Josty to shut up. Preferably forever.

“I’m totally beat, guys, we’ll have to pass,” Gabe says, and then he stretches one arm above his head and pretends to yawn. It’s the most unconvincing thing Tyson has ever seen. How embarrassing.

Mikko cackles loudly from somewhere behind Tyson. “Landy, you liar, you just want — ”

“Goodnight, boys,” Gabe interrupts, just slightly louder than necessary. “Rain check, okay, Josty? Next time.”

“Oh, next time we want to go out for drinks after shutting out Nashville and you got a goal and Tyson has that look on his face?” Josty says shrewdly. Tyson sighs as everyone still there cracks up. He’s going to have to have another mentor-to-mentee chat with Josty about not blowing up his spot like that.

“Next time there’s a group going for drinks,” Gabe says, still just a hint too loud. “Tyson, did we drive your car or mine?”

Gabe’s keys are already in his hand, but Tyson deeply appreciates the change of subject. “Yours, I think.”

“Great,” Gabe says firmly. “Let’s go.”

EJ wolf-whistles, and Gabe shoots him a truly impressive glare. Tyson shifts his coat back in front of himself as they head out to the parking lot, just in case.

“Wait — not until we’re home,” Gabe says, once they’re in the car and Tyson leans over to kiss him. “Let’s just go, let’s not get distracted, I — ”

He’s fidgeting, Tyson realizes, a desperate look in his eyes, and it takes every ounce of self-control in Tyson’s body to sit back and fold his hands in his lap. It does it for him, how much and how visibly Gabe wants him, is the problem, and by the time they pull until Tyson’s garage he’s fidgeting too, sitting on his hands and trying to think about anything besides how ready he is for this.

They burst through the door into the house and Tyson doesn’t have time to think, barely has time to drop his luggage before Gabe presses him against the door with his full body and kisses him forcefully, and Tyson almost cries with relief. He doesn’t; he thinks it might be off-putting. Instead, he wraps his arms around Gabe’s neck and kisses him back, open-mouthed and a little sloppy already, and grinds against the firm thigh shoved between his.

Gabe groans, pulling away just enough to breathe, and Tyson takes the opportunity to start mouthing at his neck.

“You — fuck,” Gabe grits out, and before Tyson can say anything he’s being kissed again. One of Gabe’s hands is cradling Tyson’s face in a way that is surprisingly tender and in direct contrast to the way Gabe’s kissing him, which is more like he wants to eat Tyson alive but in a sexy way. Both things are incredibly good.

“You’re so goddamn hot,” Tyson finally manages when they stop to breathe again, Gabe’s mouth pressed against the underside of his jaw in a sort-of kiss. “Fuck, Gabe, I just — ”

“Me too,” Gabe says, like that makes any sense at all, and then groans low in his throat, shivers and presses in closer, as Tyson starts undoing the buttons on Gabe’s shirt. “Yeah, come on,” Gabe tells him when Tyson finishes the shirt and undoes Gabe’s zipper, and when Tyson turns them, shoves Gabe up against the door, he goes easily. There’s a glint in his eye. Tyson has to stop and breathe.

“I fucking love you,” Tyson tells Gabe, leaning back a little to make full eye contact and give the moment the gravity it deserves. “So much, Gabe.” Gabe’s face softens, but before he can say anything Tyson drops to his knees and gets Gabe’s dick out.

When Tyson runs his tongue up over the underside of Gabe’s dick, he hears Gabe take a harsh breath; when he wraps his lips around the head Gabe makes a noise that’s half-moan, half-whine and slides his hand into Tyson’s hair, grip already a little rough in a good way. Tyson hums and takes Gabe deeper, enjoying the slightly bitter taste spreading across his tongue, and wraps one of his hands around the back of Gabe’s thigh. It’s thick and sturdy and that’s perfect, because Gabe tugs on Tyson’s hair then and Tyson needs something to hold onto.

“Fuck,” Gabe gasps when Tyson really gets going, his hand wrapped around the base of Gabe’s dick and his tongue doing some of its very best work. Both of Gabe’s hands are in his hair now. “Your mouth is — _fuck_.”

“Mhm,” Tyson agrees smugly, and Gabe lets his head fall back against the door with a small thump and moans again enthusiastically. Tyson feels like a god.

Gabe’s hips are twitching, and Tyson pulls off just long enough to say, “Jesus, will you just fuck my mouth already, don’t say things you won’t follow through on,” and then Gabe is holding Tyson’s head firmly in place and guiding his dick back in Tyson’s mouth and jerking his hips forward. Tyson relaxes his throat and breathes through his nose and takes it like a champ. There should really be dick-sucking awards; he’d for sure win one.

It’s sadly only a short time later that Gabe’s pace slows and he gasps a little before saying, shakily, “Tyson, I’m — ”

Tyson pulls off, wipes his mouth, and sits back on his heels to admire the view. Gabe is a wreck, his hard dick against his stomach, flushed red pretty much all over.

“Are you kidding me?” Gabe demands. His eyes are bright.

“Nope,” Tyson says, voice raspy. “Let’s go, bedroom.”

“You’re terrible,” Gabe tells him, but he’s singing a different tune once they make it upstairs and Tyson’s straddling him on the bed, bottle of lube in one hand, opening himself up with the other. Gabe’s eyes are intense, locked on Tyson’s, and Tyson is really fucking overwhelmed.

“Come on,” Gabe says softly, stroking his hand over Tyson’s hip. “That’s good, yeah. You — Jesus, Tys, you have any idea what you look like?” Tyson shudders all over and drops the lube, his dick twitching and smearing pre-come over Gabe’s abs.

“Here,” Gabe goes on, grabbing the lube. “Let me — ”

“No, I’m — I got it,” Tyson says, a little unsteadily, but Gabe ignores him, slicking up his fingers, and gently wraps his other hand around Tyson’s wrist, tugging it out of the way. Tyson hisses at the stretch when Gabe presses in three fingers where he only had two, but nods a little frantically when Gabe glances up at him. “Yeah, good, okay, _fuck_.”

“So fucking hot,” Gabe mumbles, sitting up enough to crush his mouth against Tyson’s, and Tyson groans and kisses him back, one arm wrapped around Gabe’s neck, his fingers tangled up in Gabe’s thick, glorious mane of hair. He presses close enough to get some friction on his dick, grinds against Gabe’s abs a little, and pushes back against Gabe’s fingers inside him, against Gabe’s other hand firmly grabbing his ass, and feels like he’s going to fly apart and then be put back together by Gabe’s magnificent fingers and even better dick.

“Let’s go,” he pants finally, and Gabe leans back and Tyson shifts around and slides down on Gabe’s dick and they both groan in unison, and Gabe grabs Tyson’s face with both hands and kisses him. “Can’t fucking believe this,” Tyson manages, dragging his mouth away from Gabe’s, over his jaw. “Can’t believe I’m the only fucking one to see you like this.”

“Yeah, fuck,” Gabe says, now driving his hips up in a way that is both truly fucking spectacular and Tyson is going to feel tomorrow. He doesn’t give a fuck. That’s Future Tyson’s problem, and they’ve got a day off anyway, so Gabe can go right ahead. “Just you.”

“You were so hot tonight,” Tyson continues, shifting a little so the angle of his dick against Gabe’s abs is better. “That goal, you — Jesus, Gabe, I wanted to just fuckin’ blow you right there at center ice. Let everyone see how hot you are, that you’re mine.”

Gabe groans into Tyson’s neck, low and drawn out, and digs his fingers into Tyson’s hip. His breathing is getting louder, like it always does when he’s close, and Tyson’s thighs are getting sore but he’s not fucking about to stop.

“Come on,” Tyson says, tweaking one of Gabe’s nipples, and then he whines a little when Gabe gets a hand between them to jerk Tyson off, just on the good side of too rough, and lasts about four strokes before coming, pressing his face into Gabe’s shoulder and gasping out his name and seeing stars. He’s vaguely aware of Gabe shuddering all over as he comes and collapsing, dragging both of them down to the mattress.

“What the fuck,” Tyson gets out finally, twisting in Gabe’s arms just enough to be comfortable. “Holy shit, Gabe.”

Gabe, for his part, looks utterly content and/or maybe a little dead, but he slides his foot between Tyson’s calves in response. The corners of his mouth are turning up slightly, and he finally turns his head to look at Tyson and opens his eyes.

“Hi.”

“You okay, bud?” Tyson asks, reaching out to brush his thumb over Gabe’s cheekbone. Gabe’s smile gets bigger.

“Yeah. You?”

“Never fucking better,” Tyson tells him, and Gabe brings up a hand to cup his face when Tyson leans in to kiss him again. “Jeez. Such a stud.”

Gabe fully snorts. “Did you just call me a stud?”

“Maybe I meant me,” Tyson says, yanking the sheets out from underneath him finally and curling up against Gabe’s chest. “Maybe I was talking about myself. You can be so self-centered.”

Gabe laughs, loud and bright. Tyson watches his eyes crinkle up and grins to himself. “I love you,” Gabe tells him.

Tyson grins at him, tired and so, so happy. “Love you too.”


End file.
